Khondemir favoured her with a faint smile. 'And yet
it was an act of the sheerest folly. Those men care nothing for your high pedigree. You found that out to your great discomfort. No, my lady, do not play the haughty princess with me. There can be only one reason for your irregular behaviour. You were spying. What was it that you wished to learn among the Turanians?'
' 'Spying? How can one spy upon allies, Khondemir? Surely such friends as we cannot be holding secrets from one another.'
'Do not try my patience, Ishkala,' said the wizard. He raised a hand and his fingertips began to glow.
'I wanted to know what we are doing here,' she said hastily. Clearly, defiance was out of the question. She decided to settle for cold dignity. 'I found by listening to your Turanian rogues that you plan to seize the throne of Turan for yourself. I know that my father knows nothing of this. With the Hyrkanians besieging Sogaria, the last thing he would want is a war with Turan. You cannot embroil us in your mad scheme, wizard, whatever the services you have promised our city!'
Khondemir waved a calming hand. 'Have I asked Sogaria to support my claims upon the Turanian throne in any fashion? Of course not. Please, Princess, take your ease and we shall discuss this.' He poured wine from a ewer and handed her a goblet. He gestured toward a low hassock, and she seated herself.
'Explain, then,' she said.
'My dispute with King Yezdigerd, the usurper, is a just one, but I have no intention of asking my adopted city of Sogaria to take my part in what is a civil war. I am the true heir to the throne of Turan. My mother, Princess Konashahr, was the first wife of King Yildiz of Turan. Some months before I was born, certain political considerations caused Yildiz to put my mother away
and take another wife, the daughter of a northern satrap whose aid he needed in order to secure his own claim to the throne. That woman is Yezdigerd's mother. She wished to assure that no impediment would stand between her son and the throne of Turan, so she had my mother strangled and ordered that I be slain as well, though I was but a babe of less than two years. Whether Yildiz knew of these things I know not. He was a weak man, and easily led by clever advisors and wives.'
The sorcerer gazed broodingly into his wine, as if descrying the future in its depths. 'But I was not slain. Among the men sent to carry out the foul deed was a guardsman who was a distant kinsman to my mother. He was unable to save his kinswoman, but he managed to slay the assassins before they reached the nursery. He spirited me to the family lands, bordering the desert north of Samara. There I was placed with obscure relatives and given an education in the arts of true power, while slowly, over the years, my family was stripped of lands and possessions, accused of plotting against the throne, and weakened by the drafting of its young men into military units destined for suicide missions in hopeless wars.
'When Yezdigerd assumed the throne, he continued these persecutions until nothing remained of my family but a few isolated, terrified households in the desert lands . . . and myself. I swore that I would use the dark arts I had mastered so as to take my rightful place upon the throne and restore the fortunes of my family. I will expunge even the memory of the usurper, Yezdigerd, from the histories of Turan!'
'I see,' said Ishkala judiciously. She did not bother to give the story either credence or denial. She was wise enough in the ways of nations to know that with the accession of each new monarch, other claimants sprang
from the ground like mushrooms. Long-lost sons and brothers of the dead king appeared in abundance, each with a little following of fortune-hunting lackeys prepared to swear to the legitimacy of the claim.
'Excellent. You will appreciate, then, that my meeting with my supporters here has nothing to do with my services on behalf of your father. It merely provided me with a convenient opportunity to carry out certain policies of reorganization without these actions coming to the attention of Yezdigerd. Meanwhile, our numbers are doubled, always an advantage in perilous times when attack may take place at any moment.'
'Very wise, Khondemir, and very efficient.' She sought to refrain from sounding sarcastic. Khondemir seemed satisfied, but she suspected that his attitude was more that of disdain than of concern. This gave her much food for thought. If he was little concerned with whatever report she tendered her father, was it because he did not expect her to live long enough to see her father again? A sudden chill seized her. 'Will you tell me why I am here?'
The mage waved a hand airily, and streaks of coloured light hung for a moment in the space through which his fingers had passed. 'A mere . . . linkage, my dear. I labour on behalf of your distinguished father. Since he cannot be present at the time the major ritual is performed, I must have an ... assistant who is of his near blood. He needs his sons in the defence of the city, so his eldest daughter was a logical choice. Do not be alarmed, child. I shall only require your aid briefly, in one short but crucial phase of my ritual. After that, the threat of the Hyrkanians shall be no more and you may go as you please.'
Ishkala was well aware that the wizard's words, even if true, carried a double meaning. She was in
deadly danger. 'When,' she asked, 'is this ritual to take place? I am anxious to return to my city.'
'On the fifth night from this,' Khondemir said, 'the moon shall be waking, the stars shall be in their proper order, and all shall be ready. Then we shall dispose of the Hyrkanian threat.'
'Very well, Khondemir,' she said with her best attempt at regality. 'I wish you had told me these things ere now. It would have saved us both much trouble and embarrassment this night.'
'Trouble, Princess?' Khondemir echoed, his eyebrows arching. 'What trouble?'
As Ishkala returned through the dark, brooding night to her tent, she knew that her danger was intense. Where was Manzur? Just now she needed a rescuer, however unrealistic he might be.
XII
Conan awoke when his horse started, jerking the rein tied around the Cimmerian's wrist. He sprang from the ground where he had been sleeping, his hand on the hilt of his sword. What had disturbed the beast?
As Rustuf had predicted, they had ridden into the dust storm with the pursuing Hyrkanians visible in the distance behind them. In the storm they had managed to shake pursuit, but they had also become separated. As the wind subsided, Conan saw no sign of the Hyrkanians or of his two companions. He had spent the last hours of darkness in fitful sleep, ever ready to leap up and ride at the first sign of the Hyrkanians.
The dawning light of day paled the sky above the eastern horizon, and against that light Conan saw the silhouette of a lone horseman. Was it Rustuf or Fawd, or perhaps a Hyrkanian separated from his fifty? He decided to await the rider's arrival. If it were an enemy, a single man was not sufficient threat to give Conan cause for flight.
As the man neared and the light grew, Conan saw that the horseman wore the uniform of a Sogarian messenger, complete with light armour and yellow plumes. The man appeared to be dejected, staring gloomily at the ground as his mount ambled along at a leisurely pace. What might this apparition portend?
'Good day to you,' said Conan as the man drew near. The rider, whom Conan could now see was a very young man, looked up in great astonishment.
'What manner of savage are you?' he demanded.
'The best kind, a Cimmerian. And what might you be doing out here on the steppe? Surely there can be few recipients for messages in this desolate waste.'
'I am not a messenger. I am Manzur Alyasha, poet and hero. By my own hand, I slew two Hyrkanians with two strokes of my sword.'
So this was the mad poet and swordsman of whom the youths at the inn had spoken. Conan smiled grimly. Every youth thought himself the mightiest of warriors after his first blooding. The boy, thin-skinned and touchy, saw the smile and took it for an insult.
'I see that you do not believe me. Trifle not with Manzur the Poet, foreigner. I was trained by the greatest of Sogarian swordmasters. Doubtless you are some caravan guardsman and think yourself to be a warrior, but do not
confuse yourself with the likes of me.' He stared down haughtily, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by his helmet, which sat slightly askew.
'I do not,' Conan replied. 'I have served in a dozen armies, in every rank from spearman to general. I have commanded fleets of raiding ships on the Western Sea and the Vilayet. I have fought in every kingdom west of Khitai. And I have slain far more than two horse-archers who were not handy with swords.'
' 'And what is so mighty a warrior doing out here on
the steppe with naught but a single horse?' the young man asked sarcastically.
'Until recently I was an officer in the horde of Bartatua, the Hyrkanian. A misunderstanding arose and I had to flee. Just now—'
'Bartatua!' Manzur exclaimed. 'You have been serving with our enemies! No enemy of Sogaria's may live in my presence!' The youth sprang to the ground and whipped out his blade.
'I no longer—' But before he could finish his sentence, the lad was advancing on him. Muttering an oath, Conan ripped forth his own blade. All he needed, he thought, was a fight with a vainglorious young fool. He had no doubt over who would win, but even the greatest of swordsmen might be wounded by an ardent amateur, and a minor wound could prove serious in this isolated place.
With a distracting stamp of his foot, Manzur feinted a cut to Conan's knee, only to flip his point up and drive a full body lunge toward the Cimmerian's throat. Conan recognised the move; it was a lunge taught by Zingaran swordmasters, modified for the curved blade of the east. He batted it aside and clouted the youth beside the head with his open palm. Boy and helmet went flying.
'First lesson—'Conan said—'never extend a lunge that far in a real fight. It takes too long to recover when you miss. Your leading knee was so far forward that I could have shattered it with my pommel.'
'I shall remember,' Manzur said, flushing crimson as he picked himself up from the ground. 'Now, defend yourself!' He launched a flurry of blows, bewildering in their complexity, and for a few moments Conan found his hands full in dealing with them. He had to admit that the boy was swift and skilful.
But Conan was swifter and more skilful. He was, in
fact, dazzlingly swift, and he had the advantages of tremendous strength and many years of experience. At almost any time during the fight he could have killed the lad easily, but he found himself reluctant to do anything as drastic. He was not certain why, but perhaps it was because Manzur reminded him of a much younger Conan, who had been just as conceited and unworldly.
Manzur, tiring fast, essayed a cut to Conan's leading knee, a blow to sever tendons and bring his enemy crashing to the ground to be finished off at leisure. But Conan had other ideas. As the keen blade licked toward his knee, the Cimmerian drew his leg back and the blade passed through empty air. Manzur was left lean-lag far forward and off balance, and Conan brought his pommel down sharply upon the lad's unhelmeted scalp.
The Sogarian dropped like an ox at slaughtering time. He was blinded by pain and dizzy from the force of the blow, and he could feel blood streaming down his face. As he lay moaning upon the ground, Conan carefully relieved him of sword and dagger. Leaving the lad to recover by himself, Conan went to the horse Manzur had been riding. It was placidly munching the tough, wiry grass and paid him no heed as he examined its burdens. A sloshing skinbag drew his immediate attention, and he sampled its contents. It was the yellow wine of Sogaria, mixed with an equal amount of water, a wonderfully refreshing drink to a man who had been breathing dust for most of a night.
'Have you anything to eat?' Conan asked. 'I am starving.'
'There is a little parched grain and dried fruit in the left saddlebag,' Manzur said. He was sitting up now, rubbing his scalp. It had stopped bleeding, but a lump of heroic dimensions was forming there. He winced at the touch. 'Where did you learn to fight so superbly?'
Conan ate a handful of the dried provisions, washed down with the watered wine. 'Well, I suppose it is better than starving,' he pronounced. He walked over to where Manzur still sat and suffered. 'Here,' said the Cimmerian, proffering the wineskin. 'This will make you feel better.'
Manzur took a pull at the wineskin. 'It does make the world seem a better place at that. Where are you bound, foreigner?'
'To the west, through Turan and beyond. That is where I was headed when I was captured and ended up in Bartatua's army. Since the Kagan now wants my hide with which to decorate his tent, the time has come for me to continue my interrupted journey.'
Manzur drank more of the wine. 'I left my city,' he said, 'hoping to find my love, Princess Ishkala. Many days ago she was taken from the palace by the Turanian sorcerer, Khondemir. Along with an escort of Red Eagles a thousand strong, they trekked into the northwestern steppe upon some mysterious errand for the prince. I feel in my bones, though, that the wizard's plot is something baleful. I go to find my Ishkala and bring her back safe to Sogaria.'
Khondemir. The name seemed familiar to Conan. Then he remembered the message he had translated for Bartatua. It had stated that King Yezdigerd urgently sought this mage who had been involved in treason, or in an insurrection of some sort. And hadn't he heard the name mentioned again on the night he had eavesdropped on the prince's councillors as they sat about the pool in the palace of Sogaria? Conan did not like to deal with wizards, but this had possibilities. 'Are you still on their trail?'
'Nay,' said Manzur sadly. 'In the dust storm I lost the broad trail I had been following. The signs left by a
mounted force of a thousand are plain even to a town-raised scholar. But the storm obliterated most of the signs, and I am no hunter to detect the passing of beasts k a bent blade of grass.'
'I will ride a way with you,' Conan said. 'I have been a scout and tracker, and I have hunted all my life. I will know it if we cross the path of a thousand horsemen, even after a storm.'
'Splendid!' said Manzur. 'And will you also help me retrieve Ishkala?'
Conan thought for a while. 'Perhaps. I will know better after I have had a look at the situation.'
'Her father will reward you greatly,' Manzur said, ignoring that it was the prince himself who had authorized Ishkala's journey with the mage.
'I have no intention of going to Sogaria,' Conan said, 'for any manner of reward. In the first place, I was but recently leading raids into Sogarian territory. I have encountered few kings who did not value a fort more highly than they valued a daughter. Second, your prince is likely to take a dim view of any who thwart whatever mission the wizard has undertaken.'
'Then why are you willing to help?' Manzur asked.
'I have heard somewhat of this man, Khondemir. He has earned the enmity of King Yezdigerd by indulging in a bit of insurrection. It may be that if I take him or at least his head back to Turan, I might make peace between Yezdigerd and myself.'
'For a man lacking even a skin of wine or a bag of food,' Manzur observed, 'you seem to have travelled in exalted circles. Few men have kings as diverse as Bartatua and Yezdigerd thirsting for their blood.'
'I wish those two were the only ones,' Conan said ruefully. 'But we waste time here. Are you ready to ride?'
'I think so,' said Manzur, rubbing his head again. 'But I do not think I will wear my helmet for some time. By all means, let us go. My heart will be desolate until I am reunited with my Ishkala.'
'My stomach will be desolate until we are united with some game,' Conan said.
'How will we locate the column?' Manzur asked.
'First we must find a stream,' Conan told him. 'A thousand horses drink a great deal of water, and streams are few on these plains. Where we find water, there we will find the cavalry.'
It was full morning as they rode away. The Cimmerian kept his eyes on the ground. The steppe seemed empty, but Conan knew that it teemed with life. Because of the lack of natural cover, the steppe animals were smaller than those of the woodland, or especially swift, or otherwise adept at flight. Many were nocturnal so as to escape the keen eyes of predators. But all needed water, and Conan kne
w that when he saw many game tracks converging, water could not be far away.
At a signal from Conan, the two men halted. The mounts were restive and' did not want to stop. Their nostrils flared, and they strained westward against the taut reins.
'Stay here for a while,' Conan said, his voice barely above a whisper. Slowly he drew his strung bow from its case behind his right leg.
'What is it?' Manzur asked. 'Enemies?'
'Better than that,' Conan said. 'Dinner.' He pointed to a slight rise of ground three hundred paces away.
Manzur squinted in the direction indicated and saw nothing. Then he caught a hint of movement just above the crest of the rise. It looked as though someone were waving a small stick back and forth.
'What is it?' he asked. 'An animal?' His mouth began to water.
'Some breed of antelope, I'll warrant,' Conan said. 'There will be more than one, and they are drinking at a stream over there. That is why our mounts are eager to run. They smell the water. I have been smelling it myself for the last two miles.' He selected an arrow with a broad hunting head and fitted it to the string. 'Wait here.'
Silently he kicked his horse to a swift gallop. The beast bolted readily, the smell of water making it nearly frantic. This close to water the grass was thick, and the horse's hooves made little sound. As he surged over the crest of the rise, Conan saw perhaps twenty small fork-horned antelope drinking from a little stream. The animals stood in startled paralysis for a split second before they went flying in all directions.
In huge, graceful leaps the antelope fled, their criss-crossing, diverging paths bewildering to the eye. The Cimmerian, though, had picked his target in the moment when the animals had been frozen in surprise. It was a small, fat buck, and Conan drew his bow as the beast slanted off to his right. He released the string at the moment the antelope began its fifth leap. Animal and arrow intersected and the creature went down with the shaft buried deep behind its shoulder. It kicked for a moment, then was still.
The Conan Chronology Page 459